Frosted Blood-A Tale of Tamriel
by DanishCookie
Summary: It is Morning Star, year 206 of the fourth era. Five years have passed since the World Eater was vanquished. Two years have flown by since the Stormcloak rebellion was crushed in a series of devastating defeats. But a mere 3 months have passed, when the ever-treacherous Aldmeri Dominion broke the White Gold Concordat. But an Empire crumbling from within was not ready for this war..
1. Prologue: In the Dead of Night

Frosted Blood

By DanishCookie

Prologue: In the Dead of Night

_Frostfall, 205_

Kelmar Fire-Blood patrolled the bricked stone roads of Solitude at a leisurely pace. Even in the dead of night, when the streets were empty but for a few stragglers and drunkards, the crimson-clad guard felt comfortable. Fourteen years had he walked the same route, at the same time of night, and not once did he find any trouble. Sure, there was the occasional drunk harassing a maiden outside far too late, or the off chance that a thief would be trying to break into a wealthy manor, but to no avail. But no serious evil had ever crossed his path. He was sure that no trouble would come. He looked up at the signs of the various shops and taverns, all of them flapping about in the wind. The skies were clear, but for a few clouds to the south, from the direction of Markarth. No foul weather would ruin the night, nor the day after. He was sure.

A glint of gold touched the corner of his eye, and Kelmar whipped around, simultaneously unsheathing his trusted blade of steel. He proclaimed the usual warning, a tiresome routine for his mouth.

"Halt! By the command of the Jarl, who goes there?"

A tall elf garbed in a golden set of elvish armor turned around to see Kelmar lowering his sword at the sight. "By what right do you have to halt an agent of the Thalmor?" He exclaimed, sounding rather annoyed.

Kelmar quickly sheathed his sword and bowed. "My apologies, lord. Just simple precautions and routine is all." The elf looked away, sniffing indignantly.

"Next time, make sure of whom it is you bark at before you do so." He muttered under his breath, "Filthy Nord." The elf walked away, chin pointed up. He had urgent business to attend to, and could not afford to be stopped by a mere _man_.

Kelmar Fire-Blood turned away quickly, face red with anger. Not since the defeat of the Stormcloaks had a Thalmor seemed to proud and indignant. He had heard what the elf had muttered under his breath, and was in the slightest bit annoyed by it. The guard started to walk again down his designated patrol route, but hesitated.

_It all seemed too suspicious. It was not common that the elves left the embassy to Solitude on a whim. The elf had to be planning something, to be wearing so much armor._

Kelmar decided to discreetly follow the agent. He had to find out what the elf was doing, and he suspected that it wasn't good. Sticking to the shadows of the various buildings of cold stone, the guard spied on the Thalmor. It seemed ages, the elf walked so slowly, until at last they reached the entrance of the Blue Palace. All of the lights were off, and no sound of council, debate, or simple talk could be heard. Kelmar watched as the elf he was following gripped a small bulge in his armor. No weapons could be seen on him, but he suspected that the elf was carrying a small dagger or knife. Foul deeds were on the verge of occurrence, and the guard knew he had to do something.

_I can't just go up and kill the damned elf. What if he really isn't planning anything? Or what if there is no implication of murder on him. I have to find another way…_

Kelmar, a protector of the people of Solitude, a keeper of justice, never thought that he would be doing something like this. But he had to perform his duty and keep his oath as a guard. He had to make a decision quick, and the elf was already approaching the door. He paused for a bit, and hurried into the door after the armored elf. He entered in a silence most commonly found in the graveyards of Falkreath on a midsummer's night.

The Thalmor agent was already up the stairs, and was turning towards the Jarl's quarters. At his point, there was no doubt about it. Kelmar Fire-Blood knew the elf planned murder—and of the Jarl Elisif no less! He followed the elf at a slow pace, making sure so as to not alert him. As the elf opened the doors to Elisif's quarters, pulling out a small dagger of elvish make, Kelmar sprinted up behind him. He swiftly unsheathed his sword and gripped it high. In one powerful swing, he brought the pommel onto the surprised elf's head, immediately incapacitating him. The golden-skinned elf slumped down onto the marble floor in a limp heap, and his dagger fell at his side. Kelmar knelt at the unconscious elf's side and checked his heart, to make sure that he wasn't dead. He looked up to see the Jarl rising from her bed, a look of horror already on her face. In a few seconds time, nearly the whole court had gathered around the guard, looking down at the broken elf.

A steward clothed in brown seemed to be the only one not completely taken aback by the event. Known to others as Falk Firebeard, he, along with Kelmar, quickly calmed the others. The court convened, and a decision was hastily made, with the Thalmor agent bound and still incapacitated. A messenger would be sent to the Imperial Province, unknown to the Aldmeri. News of this event would be hidden to all, and the matter would be brought to the Aldmeri Dominion. But they all knew what would come of this.

War was inevitable. And they weren't sure that the Empire would emerge victorious.

* * *

So, this is the prologue of my upcoming series in the universe of the Elder Scrolls. I hope you guys enjoyed it! Feel free to tell me what you thought, be it good, bad, or so-so. I'm open to everything. So tell me if you love it or if you hate it (but that would make me sad.) I know it was a bit rushed at the end, but what can you do on your first draft?

New chapters are coming soon, but with school exams, and other things I have to attend to, don't expect regular postings.


	2. Chapter 1: Icy Bark

Frosted Blood

By DanishCookie

Chapter 1: Icy Bark

_Morning Star, 206_

Only three months had passed since the second Great War had begun, yet the Empire had already lost three major cities in Cyrodiil. Anvil, Kvatch, and Skingrad had fallen, despite the best efforts of the Empire. Bravil and Leyawiin had both remained under an Imperial banner, but they were under constant and relentless siege. Supplies could not get to either city, and their walls were already crumbling. A thin blockade lay in the waters around the Imperial City, and though the fighting was more brutal than any the Imperial Navy had seen before, the ships of oak and brass stayed true to their oaths. The Thalmor looked to Chorrol—to the vast woods, and the expanse that lay after. Only a thin and quickly crumbling line of defense lay between the enormous Aldmeri armies and their new ambitions.

The forests of Chorrol were a radiant white, and the boughs of the abundant evergreens were laden with sheets of cold, packed snow. The early morning sun was slowly rising to the west, its rays occasionally piercing through the small slits left through the snow. It was a peaceful setting, an ideal one for one of Aldius Kenna's novels of love and drama. Aldius Kenna was Silian Duris' favorite author, of course, and the steel-clad Praefect couldn't help but think of the plethora of books that Kenna had written. It was a shame that the writer's workshop was burnt down, along with the rest of the southern section of Skingrad. The Thalmor's work it was, and those same Aldmeri heathens were headed for the very Imperial camp Silian was now posted at, south of Chorrol.

The camp itself was hidden well throughout the crystalline forests, the various tents covered in thin sheets of camouflage, in the form of broken branches, ripped leaves and white, clean linen cloaks hung throughout. A small wall of stone and wood and been erected at the lowest, southernmost end of the camp, and a constant watch had been posted there. The garrison wasn't a problem either. Nearly a third of the forces with Silian were specialists with ranger, skirmishing, and stealth training. The rest was a bulky force of vanguards, archers, and light troops alike. No, the problem was not too far south of them—in the form of a massive unit of Aldmeri soldiers and mages. Already four minor raids had been beaten back, but not without cost. An entire maniple of Imperials had been decimated by a group of Thalmor scouts—ambushed in the dark. A small group of rangers had been devastated in a small clearing not two clicks away from where they were now located. The forest downhill to the south was laden with the bodies of both Aldmeri and Imperial troops, some of them filled with brutal cuts, others covered in arrows, and still a few burned to crisps. The once pure snow below was mottled by the blood of soldiers from both factions, thick streams of it trickling away. It was definitely not a morale booster. The situation was getting desperate, and his scouts had reported that the advancing Thalmor were much closer to them than the reinforcing 3rd legion. And they were due in six days time.

Silian roamed the camp absent-mindedly watching his men attend to their regular duties. Though Legion camps usually kept the discipline and order of an actual city or fort, the wary officer had allowed his soldiers a relaxed schedule. They were shaken, exhausted and absolutely not, in any way, prepared for the impending battles to come. The soldiers stuck in small cliques, often eating, resting by fires, cleaning or attending to their weapons, and performing other routine and basic actions. Silian's thoughts were interrupted by the approach of the senior Centurion at the camp.

"Praefect Silian, sir! There are urgent matters I need to discuss with you, as soon as possible." The young officer's name was Arcturus Liore. He was a brash, confident, and fresh centurion, recently completed of his officer training. He was always eager for battle, and Silian was suddenly glad of his presence. Appropriately, he had been posted at the wall.

"Report, Liore. What do you need of me?"

"If we would walk to the wall, sir."

The pair proceeded down through the camp at a brisk pace, for Arcturus was obviously keen on getting to the edge of the camp.

"Praefect, the archers on the wall have reported several out-of-place sightings. Small, obscure fires about the size of torches have been seen not twenty meters from the wall itself, at most. Whispers have been heard from below, when all is quiet. Recently, a miniscule scouting party of vanguards and rangers found what seemed to be Aldmeri equipment, some weapons, and a helmet of obvious elven make. Without a doubt, at least some of the Thalmor forces have reached us, and it's no telling how much are exactly held within the trees beneath. The men are scared sir, and we don't know what to do, with the small amount of archers held on and around the wall."

"Enough, Liore. I understand your point. I'll call for a larger force here, and I will keep a brief watch myself. I want to see and hear these claims for myself."

"Yes, Praefect. I'll return to my duties at once."

Silian watched as the centurion jogged towards an officer's tent. The young officer briefly talked to a lightly-armored soldier before entering the tent. Silian turned around to face the wall.

It was a laughable structure, of simple stone, mortar and oak. A single, somewhat powerful blast of magic would easily puncture the thin barrier, and knowing the Altmer, mages would be abundant in their armies. The wall was only placed there as a feasible building to keep an elevated watch from, and it was only about three meters high and two meters wide. It only ranged from the hills a few clicks to the west to the edge of the forest to the east, but in the cold, icy mist of the winter forest, it seemed much longer. A thin garrison of archers, with the occasional armored vanguard, held the wall. The rest of the soldiers of the camp rested uphill, further into the woods of Chorrol. As Silian stood upon the wall, heavy thoughts rested into his mind, to join the ones that already were hunkered there. His meager, supply-limited, and ultimately winded troops were of no match to the impending forces.

_Already have the great cities of Anvil, Skingrad, and Kvatch fallen. The legions posted in those cities were powerful, and full of distinguished and brave men, yet still they fell to the onslaught of the elves. How can we defend this weak post, if several legions of Imperial troops have been devastated? How can I, a lowly Praefect to the great Legates that commanded the three cities to the south, command the weakest chain in the line of defense and expect to hold it, even for a day of siege?_

The only hope Silian had left was in the forest itself. Regular Imperial battle structure was disciplined, orderly, and straightforward. There were no skirmishes, no small battles, and certainly no confusing elements of warfare. This was the same for the Aldmeri Dominion, and empire at heart. But a sizeable element of his legion was of rangers, and they could prove a boon to him in the dense woods of Chorrol.

The only thing Silian could do now was wait. Whether it be for victory or a brutal death, he could not know.

He could only wait.

* * *

Hey, guys. This is the second chapter of Frosted Blood. I hope you enjoy it.

I know this is relatively short, when compared to some of the other masterpieces on Fanfiction. However, I can guarantee that after the next couple, chapters will start to get a bit longer. In addition, don't expect the simple writing in these first publications to remain. I will, over the course of time, improve the writing, add details, so on and so forth.

The typical lore of the Elder Scrolls will be altered slightly, for the purposes of the story. I also use some actual Roman Legion ranks, structures, etc.

So again, feel free to leave questions, reviews (be them positive or negative), etc. I will accept them with open arms.

Now, I've bored you guys too much with these final notes. Fly, my fellow writers, fly!


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